Remember
by All Around Loon
Summary: What happened in Budapest.


**This is why I haven't been updating 'Up Against the wall'- IT WOULDN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD. **

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Budapest was hot this kind of year. The kind of hot that leaked into your every pore and made you sweat in crevices you didn't even know you had. Natasha's suit, skin tight in every single one of those crevices, was sticking to her like duct tape. In all honestly, she was terrified to take it off, for fear it would take her skin with it.

The warehouse that she and Clint had set up shop did nothing for the heat. They had assumed the lack of sun might do something, but the permeating humidity could not be stopped.

Natasha wasn't sure how he hung in the rafters all day, heat rose and she wasn't doing so well on the ground floor.

"Clint! Come down, I have a lead." Her voice was posed, and within seconds he dropped from the ceiling. "About two miles north of here, there is... a lot of them."

"Define a lot."

She turned the computer screen so that he could see the building, a satellite photo revealed a mass of tiny red dots. "It's only an estimate-"

"It's nothing we can't handle." He said, pointing the screen back towards her. She gave a stiff nod and shut down the machine, grabbing the pistol from beside the computer and shoving it into the holster at her thigh. Clint watched her every move and they caught eyes for a moment. He let out a short breathe and motioned towards the door. "Ready?" She sighed, walking past him to the exit. "I guess that's a yes." Her muttered to himself, following suit.

The battle was long and it seemed that the enemy had endless expendable lackey's. In the end, it was Clint and Natasha who overpowered them, and even though they had won the battle and not the war- it felt like a triumph. Both agents were bruised, and bleeding, but riding the high that only comes after a successful mission. It was the only time Clint ever saw Natasha smile.

She was in her element. Human emotion was confusing, but guns and the big fight, overcoming a seemingly undefeated foe was when she really shined.

After working their way back to the warehouse, the call from directory fury was immediate. It was Natasha's phone that rang, "Director. Yes-yes. I understand." She hung up with out another word. "We're to report back to the hotel, and the jet will leave in the morning."

"Back to America?"

"For now." She answered, glancing around. The equipment was all gone, probably cleared out my Fury's men. He knew they were going to come out alive even before they did. "We should change."

Natasha disappeared behind a rickety door, riddled with bullet holes, and Clint turned around and did his best not too look. They were partners, and worked together very well, seeing her naked wouldn't help him concentrate on that any. The two left in separate cars, even though Fury had allowed them to stay at the same hotel, the condition was separate rooms.

Clint didn't see Natasha until four hours later, when she showed up barefoot at his room. She brought with her a high waisted tweed skirt, a very tailored white blouse revealing far too much in the chest area, and a very large bottle of vodka. "Nous devrions celebrere?"

He put his tongue in his cheek, holding the door open for her. "I don't speak french, Nat."

"But you knew it was french." She said, plopping down on his bed and screwing open the cap. Clint provided the small paper cups, meant for coffee, but not tonight. He was reminded of their first couple of months together, when neither of them had any allegiance to anyone, and were more occupied with stealing Tony Stark's secrets.

There had been a lot of Vodka back then.

"Congratulations on an extremely successful mission, _Hawkeye."_ His codename existed her mouth with precious, and was followed by a smirk. She downed the contents of the small paper cup, and held her hand out, signaling for another. He poured, extremely aware that he would be drunk far before she was. It wouldn't be the first time she'd drank him under the table.

He tipped his glass towards her, taking a seat on the bed. "And you, Black Widow."

The two stayed in silence for a while, Clint refilling their glasses each time they emptied. The Agents had been in Budapest for almost two months, tracking a group of rebels, he wondered how long it would take them to return to normalcy. Or at least, their brand of it.

"Clint?"

"Yeah, Nat?" He said, leaning back on the bed and pulling loose his tie.

"Do you ever think about the old days?"

"You mean when you were constantly trying to kill me?"

"I mean when we were in love."

That sentence makes Clint blink, sitting up and trying to wipe the inebriation from his eyes. "Y-yeah."

"I do. Probably a lot more then I would like to admit." Her voice is even, unwavering. She delivers the news like a death sentence. "I think you loved me a lot. I-I went to San Francisco to escape you, to escape all this." The Black Widow motions in a circle, her hand clinging to the bottle of Svedka so tight her knuckles are turning white, with a another gulp of the clear liquid she continues. "Matt never-"

She never gets to finish her sentence, because Clint pushes his lips to hers. They taste of vodka, and blood and misery. Natasha doesn't resist because even though she knows it's wrong, and she'll be gone by the morning, the feeling of him on top of her makes her feel safe. He's warm, and muscular and knows her better then anyone else.

They make love until he's too tired to move and collapses on top of her, rolling over and kissing her forehead. "I did love you a lot, Nat." He whispers, and drifts off.

She's gone before the sun is up, tiptoeing out of his hotel room but returning for one thing- to write I'm sorry in her shade of lipstick on the mirror opposite the bed.

For once in her life, she actually means it.


End file.
